Harry Potter: The Red Rune
by Angry Hamster
Summary: Okay, so what if Harry had a terrible life with the Dursleys and was eventually rescued by Sirius? And what is this crimson rune that Dumbledore placed on him? Read to find out. Warning - mentioning of child abuse.
1. Prologue

**Harry Potter: The Red Rune**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing – the Harry Potter series belongs to J. K. Rowling. I only borrow the characters and write my own version of her story SO DON'T SUE ME.**

**A/N: Okay everyone this is my first attempt at a Harry Potter story (in fact it's my first story ever) – so please be nice in your reviews.**

**Criticism is accepted and as long as you give reasons for you dislike(s).**

**Anyway now that that is over with – on with the story:**

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><p><strong>Prologue: Godric's Hollow<strong>

**Saturday 31st October 1981**

The night wet and windy. Two children, dressed as pumpkins, were waddling across the town square - passing the shop windows covered in paper spiders. It was Halloween in the muggle world.

Inside of his fractured soul the Dark Lord let himself feel a rare emotion, not anger, that was for weaker souls than he, but triumph, yes. He had waited for this, he had hoped for it...

"Nice costume, mister!"

He saw the small boy's smile falter as he ran near enough to see beneath the hood of the cloak. Fear clouded his childish features as he turned and bolted away. Beneath the robe a pale hand fingered the handle of his wand – one simple movement and the child would never reach his mother – but it was unnecessary, quite unnecessary.

And now, along a new and darker street he moved, his destination for the night was in sight at last, the Fidelius Charm had just been broken, though they did not know it … yet.

As he moved, almost serpent like, he made less noise than the dead leaves rustling quietly on the pavement. Drawing level with a dark thorny hedge, and steered over it – they were insight now.

They had not drawn the curtains; he saw them quite clearly in their little sitting room, the tall black-haired man in his glasses, making puffs of coloured smoke erupt from his wand for the amusement of the small black-haired boy in his blue pyjamas. The child was laughing and trying to catch the smoke, to grab it in his small fist.

An inside door opened and the mother entered, saying words he could not hear, her long dark-red hair falling over her face. Now the father scooped up the son and handed him to the mother. He threw his wand down upon the sofa and stretched, yawning.

And now as he drew ever closer he pushed open the gate, it creaked slightly, but James Potter did not hear. His white hand pulled out the wand beneath his cloak and pointed it at the door, which burst open, in a shower of splintered wood.

He was over the threshold in a flash – just in time to confront James as he came sprinting into the hall. It was easy, too easy; the fool had not even picked up his wand.

"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"

Hold _him_ off, without a wand in his hand! Voldemort laughed once before casting the curse that would end his pitiful existence.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The green light filled the cramped hallway, illuminating all under its deathly glow, it made the banisters shimmer like lightning rods, and James Potter fell like a marionette whose strings were cut.

And now as he ascended the staircase he could hear her screaming from the upper floor, trapped, but as long as she was sensible, she - at least - had nothing to fear.

He climbed the steps, listening with faint amusement to her attempts to barricade herself in ... She had no wand upon her either ... How stupid they were, and how trusting, thinking that their safety lay in friends, that weapons could be discarded even for moments. He forced the door open, cast aside the chair and boxes hastily piled against it with one lazy wave of his wand – and there she stood, the child in her arms. At the sight of him, she dropped her son into the crib behind her and threw her arms wide, as if this would help, shielding him from sight, as she hoped to be chosen instead.

"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!" cried Lily.

"Stand aside, you silly girl... stand aside, now," was his stone cold reply.

"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead -" she begged.

"This is my last warning -" he started but again she started to grovel.

"Not Harry - please have mercy have mercy - I'll do anything" she pleaded.

"That was your last chance" he said coldly – he could have forced her away from the crib, but it seemed more prudent to finish them all.

The green light flashed around the room and she dropped like her husband. The child had not cried all this time. He was standing, clutching the bars of his crib, and was looking up into the intruder's face with a kind of bright interest, perhaps thinking that it was his father who hid beneath the cloak, making more pretty lights, and his mother would pop up any moment, laughing.

Voldemort pointed the wand very carefully into the boy's face – he wanted to see it happen, the destruction of this one mentioned in the prophecy.

The child began to cry – it had seen that he was not James. Voldemort though did not like it crying, he had never been able to stomach the small ones whining in the orphanage:

"Avada Kedavra!"

And then the impossible happened the spell rebounded off the child and he was no more. He was nothing, nothing but pain and terror – a ghost of his former self, and he must hide, not here in the rubble of the ruined house, where the child was trapped screaming, but far away where he could recover his strength.

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><p>It was nearing midnight when an old man suddenly appeared in the middle of a street called Private Drive. Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and very old – judging by the silver of his hair and beard – which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.<p>

Dumbledore didn't seem to realise that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realize he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly and saw a cat sitting near the entrance of one of the houses, which was staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known."

He found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop.

He clicked it again - the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the Put-Outer, until the only lights left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him. If anyone looked out of their window now, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the street below. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street toward number four, where he sat down on a wall next to the cat. He didn't look at it, but after a moment he spoke to it.

"Fancy seeing you here Professor McGonagall."

He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled. "How did you know it was me?" she asked.

"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."

"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall.

"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.

"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no - even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back at the house with a number four on its door. "I heard it. Flocks of owls... shooting stars... Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent - I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."

"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumours."

She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so she went on. "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?"

"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"

"A what?"

"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of"

"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for lemon drops. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone -"

"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like your-self can call him by his name? All this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense - for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name of Voldemort."

Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name.

"I know you haven't," said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know- oh, all right, Voldemort, was frightened of."

"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."

"Only because you're too - well - noble to use them."

"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "The owls are nothing next to the rumours that are flying around. You know what everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"

It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold, hard wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever "everyone" was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another lemon drop and did not answer.

"What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumour is that Lily and James Potter are - are - that they're - dead. "

There was a pregnant silence as Professor McGonagall paused briefly for an answer, before continuing "It is not true, Albus, it cannot be true. Tell me that all the rumours are just rumours and Lily and James are safe." The low voice of Minerva McGonagall trembled slightly as she spoke.

"I am sorry, Minerva, but I fear all the rumours are true. Lily and James are dead, killed by Voldemort." Albus Dumbledore shook his head, a sad look on his old face as he sighed heavily.

"I cannot believe it, Albus. They were such good people. They were members of the order. They were friends of us." There was a sound like a sob, but when Albus glanced sideways at her, her face was a calm mask. Of course – Minerva would never allow herself to lose her composure in front of others, not even Albus.

"I know, Minerva." Was all Dumbledore answered.

They got up and strolled in silence before arriving at the house they had been heading for, the house Minerva had been sitting near, in her cat form, the house she had been watching the entire day – Number four, Privet Drive.

Minerva looked up and after seeing Dumbledore's gaze, shook her head. "You cannot really intend to leave the boy here, Albus!" She said her voice aghast. "I have watched them, Albus. I have watched them the entire day. They are the worst sort of muggles you could think of. I am not sure the boy will be safe here."

"They are his only relatives now, Minerva." Albus gave contradiction. "And besides the blood wards will keep him safe from the still free Death Eaters and although they might not like it they will care for him. It is the best choice we could make for the boy. Here he can grow up in peace and quiet, without having every wizard at his heels wherever he turns."

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed and then said, 'Yes – yes, you're right, of course. But how is the boy going to get here? She eyed his cloak as she thought that he might be hiding Harry underneath it.

"Hagrid is bringing the boy. He is safe. Nothing has happened to him when Voldemort cast the unforgivable against him, well, nothing beside the fact that somehow the spell was backfired at Voldemort himself."

"Hagrid," Minerva gasped. "Do you really think it – _wise – _to trust Hagrid with the life of the boy?"

"I would trust Hagrid with my own life, Minerva." Albus answered with a slight chuckle.

"I do not question the loyalty of Hagrid, Albus. I only question his abilities. You know he is a bit ..." Her voice trailed off and again. "What was that" she exclaimed.

A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for a sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky – and a huge motorbike fell out of the air and landed bumpily on the road in front of them.

If the motorbike was huge, it was nothing compared to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. He looked to be far too big for any motorbike to support his weight and his long black, bushy hair and beard gave him a wild untamed look.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved, at last you have arrived. "I presume there were no problems on your trip?"

"No, sir - house was almost completely destroyed but I got him out all right before the muggles started swarmin' around. He fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."

Dumbledore and Minerva bent forward over the bundle of blue blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. Under a tuft of black hair they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.

"Is that where –?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar forever."

"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"

"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars come in handy. I myself have one above my left knee which is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well – give him here, Hagrid – we'd better get this over with. "

And with that Dumbledore placed Harry on the doorstep of the Dursleys, with a letter pinned to his blanket explaining his course of action.

"Well, now that that is out of the way we have no business being here, we might as well leave."

Hagrid and McGonagall nodded. Hagrid went back to the bike; kick started it and flew into the night. McGonagall turned back into a cat and vanished into a small alley.

Dumbledore just stood there though, waiting for them both to go. As soon as they had left, he pulled his wand out and waved it towards the house. A reddish silver light mixed with a little gold covered the house before expanding out and simmering out of sight.

After successfully placing the blood wards, which would protect Harry from Voldemort and his followers, he then knelt down to face the infant by his feet. Directing his wand to the boy he muttered a complex sounding spell, causing a crimson rune to form in the centre of Harry's forehead. With one final syllable he completed the spell and the rune was absorbed into the flesh.

Standing up Dumbledore walked into the empty street and, reached into his pocket and grasped the Put-Outer. He clicked it once and twelve balls of light instantly flew from the device – straight back into the lamps that stood parallel to the road.

"Good luck Harry," he murmured and with a swish of his cloak he was gone.

Harry didn't know how he was going to suffer for the next few years of his life, he didn't know he was going too bullied and beaten by his cousin, he didn't know he was going to live in a broom cupboard and he didn't know he was going to be the most hated person in Privet Drive.

He also couldn't know that at this very moment wizards and witches all over the country were meeting in secret and holding up their glasses whispering, "To Harry Potter, the boy who lived."

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><p><strong>AN: Okay, so that was the Prologue, please, please, please continue to read this story and remember to review this chapter.**

**I know that some of this text is similar to the actual books – but I assure you from here on it will be my story and my text.**

**Until next time**

**Angry Hamster…**


	2. Chapter 1

**Harry Potter – The Red Rune**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing – the Harry Potter series belongs to J. K. Rowling. I only borrow the characters and write my own version of ****her**** story SO DON'T SUE ME.**

**A/N: Okay folks here it is – Chapter One! I spent a long time trying to write this as I wasn't sure how to go about it. Anyway it's finally been completed so please enjoy.**

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><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

**Sunday, November 1****st**** 1981**

It was early morning in Private Drive and was far too early for many (normal) people to even consider getting up – it was a Sunday after all.

However one of the occupants of number four was just waking up. Petunia Dursley yawned; as she stretched after a long nights sleep. She then opened the blinds on her and her husband's bedroom window and – after glancing out on the street below – let out a small sigh before making her way down the stairs, where a tray of empty milk bottles sat at the end.

'_Might as well put out the milk bottles' _she thought_._

Petunia picked up the tray and balanced it in her left hand. Using her right hand, she gripped the bronze door-handle and opened the front door.

It was at this moment a loud shriek escaped her mouth. The milk bottles were sent crashing to the ground, fracturing into a thousand tiny pieces. Then a wail – which can only be linked to a baby crying, started; her greyish-green eyes widened in shock at the site in front of her.

A baby, which appeared to be a little over a year old, lay on the ground. It was wrapped in a blue blanket – a boy she presumed. She looked around the street. No one else was about.

She groaned at the thought of her husband's reaction but quickly picked up the baby. A little boy with brilliant emerald eyes stared up at her. Petunia (who had still been half asleep up until this point) began to freak out at the thought of what the consequences could be if she was found with someone else's child, and hurriedly rushed inside the house – depositing the baby on the kitchen table before she dropped him.

The boy sniffled a little while looking up at her. Petunia, though, just ignored him. The letter attached to his blanket had gone unnoticed … that is until she pricked her finger on the pin holding it in place.

"Ouch" she yelped, nursing her now bleeding finger.

Then, with horror, she realised the crest which was acting as a wax seal on the letter – the same one Lilly had on her acceptance letter to that _freak _school.

Rage and fear building within, her hands shakily reached for the envelope. She had just begun to open it when Vernon appeared squeezing his obese form in through the kitchen door.

"Dear, why isn't my break-," her husband paused mid-sentence. "What is that?" Vernon stared at the baby on the table. His mouth hung open in surprise.

Petunia didn't answer Vernon at first. She had finally opened the letter, clearly shocked at the envelope's contents.

"My little sister's child," she squeaked out.

"Since when did you have a sister?" Vernon questioned her, with a raised eyebrow. Then realisation hit him. "Oh, the one that you shunned for believing in magic?

Petunia nodded and continued. "Yes Vern, Lily was my sister and this," she sneered at this point, "is her child, Harry James Potter." Petunia looked up from the letter and shook her head. "He is a little over a year old so just one month younger than Dudley" Petunia shook her head to rid herself of the thoughts she was having about taking in the child and handed Vernon the letter. It read:

**Dear Mr and Mrs Dursley**

**I regret to inform you of the untimely death of your sister and her husband. They were killed by Lord Voldemort, an evil wizard similar to a dictator in your world, late last night. The only survivor was their child Harry James Potter. You are the only living family that the infant has. Please keep him in your care until he reaches the age of seventeen. I figured it best to keep him away from the wizarding world until he turns eleven, so please do not tell him of his heritage until he is accepted by Hogwarts.**

**Yours Sincerely**

**Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore**

**(Supreme Mugwump and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Headmaster to Hogwarts – School of Witchcraft and Wizardry)**

Vernon's hands began to shake, as a vein pulsed alarmingly on his forehead. "They're just dumping him on our doorstep and expecting us to care of him without complaining." His face turned a deep shade of crimson, then purple before settling at a bluish-red colour.

Forcing himself to breathe and calm down he continued. "We have a son of our own. Think of the cost to raise two children of the same age. Do we get paid for taking him in? No!"

"We're going to have to take him in Vernon." Petunia said through gritted teeth, realising how little choice she had in the matter. "We can double up on baby products."

"Why," questioned Vernon, a perplexed expression on his face.

"Because," Petunia stated, "we're the only family he has left and I do _not_ want everyone to know that we were heartless enough to refuse him, when we can afford it.

"And what do we do when he starts showing signs of magic?" Vernon growled. "I don't want poor Dudley to be affected because of his cousin's 'abilities'."

"Punish him." Petunia tilted her head a little, her mousy brown eyebrows furrowed in thought. "My parents should have done that with Lily, and made her understand how wrong she was." The next words however came out in a small whisper. "She could have been saved."

"We can't treat him as if he's normal," Vernon shouted, unaware of his wife's small proclamation, "Dudley needs to know that he is far superior to his cousin." He paused for breath and, and as a wicked glint of malice appeared in his eyes, continued. "Suppose we beat it out of him and never mention his past – we could break him and then bend him to our will, he won't ever _dare_ do magic, once I've finished with him."

"That's the thing, Vernon." Petunia muttered. "His kind deserves it." She shot a glance at the baby on the table, firmly squashing the twinge in her heart as she resisted the urge to pick him up. "He never will lead a normal life w-w-with those _freaks_. Petunia stammered in her rage. Look at how my sister and her husband turned out –DEAD." She shouted the last word – startling Vernon, who had almost never witnessed his wife raising her voice.

And with that Petunia's heart became forever bitter and hateful towards magic, including anything that could be remotely linked to it – thus meaning Harry as well.

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><p>After a while of thinking on how to crush Harry into obedience, she turned to Vernon – who was still standing in a corner of the kitchen – a small smile could be seen creping its way onto her face, a sign that she had though up a truly wicked idea.<p>

Speaking in a silky soft voice, not unlike a certain potions master, she spoke to her husband, "the cupboard under the stairs needs cleaning, but would be a perfect room for him, wouldn't it – after all who would look for a child in a cupboard?"

And with that statement Harry's life with the Dursleys began – and it was obvious to anyone that it was not going to be pleasant.

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><p><strong>Time Skip: Five Years – Dursley Household<strong>

Mr and Mrs Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. So it might be of interest to note at this point that they starved and beat a six-year-old-child –_Petunia's nephew_ – on a regular basis.

Their excuse…

The boy was a freak. He didn't deserve their love or time and for all intents and purposes should have died with his freakish parents.

Now you may wonder what caused such a hatred towards one child, but it's quite simple – the jealously of Petunia towards her sister Lily. At first she had wished that her sister survived but over time it had faded until only jealously was left. This jealously had turned into hatred and this hatred spread to all things she considered abnormal – especially magic. This hatred towards the magical world was, unfortunately, suppressed for week upon week, day after day – with no outlet insight.

That was, until, a certain Potter was left unceremoniously on their doorstep – shattering the so called perfect life of number 4 Privet Drive.

With no other relatives that could take him in and Petunia's paranoia of becoming the talk of the neighbourhood, for being a heartless monster who couldn't raise her own nephew, Mr and Mrs Dursley chose the only option available – take him in.

This didn't mean, of course that they would be nice to him. Oh no, in fact the exact opposite happened and poor Harry quickly became the most hated person in Private Drive. Scorned by his relatives – despite Harry's continuous attempts to be recognised and praised – Harry quickly became withdrew and, as you are about to find out mistreated…

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><p>A six-year-old boy was kneeling down and scrubbing the tiles of the kitchen floor. He was furiously trying to remove a smudge-mark caused by Dudley walking his mud-caked boots across the once white marble floor. Of course Dudley wasn't punished for this – in fact anything Dudley did wrong was blamed on Harry and resulted in him clearing up any mess made. Harry had once thought this unfair, but the constant <em>reminders<em> his Uncle gave him had installed a belief that no matter how ludicrous, he was to blame.

In fact due to the constant name calling Harry had, on several occasions, answered to the call of freak as he was almost never addressed as Harry.

Back to the present though if someone other than the Dursleys were to look in now they wouldn't be able to tell that the boy was six as he looked much younger – around four. This appearance though was due to Harry never eating a proper meal his entire life. In fact, Harry considered himself lucky if he got one meal a day, as the Dursleys favourite past time seemed to be seeing how little they could feed him on, whilst still making him do the labour around the house. As a result Harry was as thin as a stick; with his pale skin stretched over an emaciated frame.

Harry's oversized clothes, though, gave an illusion that he wasn't as skinny as he actually was. They also served another very good purpose – they hid the evidence of the beatings Vernon initiated for the alleged, _severe, _crimes Harry committed. These offences included not completing an insane list of chores, talking, crying, being in the same room as _civilised_ people, breathing too loudly… the list went on.

Back with Harry's appearance though – messy-black hair stood up in every direction humanly possible – almost mocking the very laws of gravity. On his forehead was the famous lightning bolt scar, although you would never be able to see it due to the shaggy bangs covering his face. It was obvious to anyone that Harry needed a haircut. It was unlikely he would receive one, though, ever since the incident when he grew it back in a night after receiving a haircut from Petunia, *coughscalpingcough*, this had led to him being refused a haircut for the past thirteen months.

"A waist of good money and time – which could be spent on Dudley" was Vernon's exact words to Harry, even though they were well off.

Apart from his hair and scar though, Harry wore thick, round, black framed glasses – held together by a piece of tape – concealing the brightest, most brilliant, emerald, green eyes you would ever see.

Harry sighed as he worked – maybe tomorrow would be better. Perhaps – for once – he could be good.

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><p><strong>Next day: 7:00am<strong>

Harry was staring at his aunt – a terrified expression etched on his face – hoping desperately that he had made the breakfast right. Each morning Petunia seemed to find something wrong with the cooking and he always suffered the consequences of it.

He absentmindedly rubbed the back of his head where she had hit him with a ladle the day before, for burning the soup.

Still standing on his stool in front of the stove Harry watched as she drew ever closer. He could feel her eyes on him, and Harry seemed to wither and shrink under her harsh gaze.

He then watched his aunt as she inspected the bacon. Harry didn't like to use the stove since he always worried that he would burn himself; especially when he was making the bacon. It was the only time he was thankful for wearing such baggy clothes, the bacon grease always splattered on the large sleeves of his sweaters.

This didn't mean of course that he hadn't suffered a burn before – oh no. In fact he received quite a few – Petunia seemed to like pressing his hand on the hob as a punishment, and had done so more times than poor Harry could remember.

'_I really hope I did it right to day_,' thought Harry miserably, '_I really don't like it when Uncle gets mad_.' After all, Harry had only felt pain when Vernon got mad (which was frequent) and being on the receiving end of his fists was not how Harry wanted to spend the morning.

Harry was dragged out of his thoughts, by his aunt staring into the pan. He held his breath repeating the phrase '_don't let it be wrong_' over and over inside his head.

However, Petunia wasn't satisfied. On the smallest piece of bacon, in one of its folds, there was a small barely charred area, slightly darker than the other slices.

"BOY," she yelled, startling Harry so badly he fell of the stool. "What do you think you were doing, burning our food – trying to poison us – eh?

"N-no Aunt Petunia" Harry stuttered out. "I-I just…"

Harry was cut off by a slap which sent him crashing into a kitchen cupboard.

"Don't try and make excuses you freak," shouted Petunia, "go and sit in your cupboard – I will deal with you later.

Fleeing out of the room Harry burst into his tiny sanctuary under the stairs – crying softly to himself.

"Why do I always get it wrong," he whispered out loud. "All I want is to be loved liked Dudley."

'_Because you're a freak' _said a soft voice in his head_, 'why else would you be treated this way… you're even called a freak._

Still crying Harry wished he could disappear – after getting the food wrong his Uncle would get cross and then….

His thoughts trailed off – he did _not _want to think about what was going to happen – that always made it worse. Still…he should probably get started on his chores soon, or he would never finish. Giving one final glance to his cupboard – he made his way out into hell-zone that awaited him.

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><p><strong>Azkaban – somewhere in the North Sea.<strong>

It was cold, in Azkaban…

It was an icy cold that slowly creped under your skin and snapped your veins one by one. It twisted the very flesh on your body and froze bones so that even twitching a finger hurt like hell. It seemed to emit in all directions and for the prisoners there, there was no escaping the gradual mental pull into oblivion. The prison guards floated silently, along darkened corridors – chiselled from an arcane grey stone. Every prisoner – from the strongest to the weakest – couldn't help but despair as they drew near – forced to relive the worst moments in their lives.

But one man was different. Compared to the other prisoners who were screaming curses at the top of their lungs, he was silent, watching the others with his clouded blue eyes, face almost impassive to the world around him. Every now and then, as a dementor glided past his cell, his face would contort in anger and rage, but he would always calm down again and return to his watching and waiting. This however was about to change.

His cell door burst open with a clang, making Sirius shoot back as far against the wall as humanly possible. It was more of a reflex than anything else, since it seemed the only time the door opened was so that the dementors could come in and have some fun with him. A bright light shined in the cell, making Sirius squint his eyes tightly shut, and shield his eyes with his shaky, bony hand.

"He's still not affected?" a male voice asked in shock.

"No, we just don't understand it. He's been here for over five years now and he's perfectly sane. We don't know why the Dementors aren't affecting him. Lestrange went insane within two days." a deeper voiced male replied.

The first voice then turned his attention to Sirius. "Hey, Black. What's your secret? What has You-Know-Who taught you about fighting off the Dementors?" the man stepped closer revealing the face of Cornelius Fudge – the Minister of Magic.

"I'm not going to speak with the likes of you," Sirius spat, huddled in the corner of the room.

The minister sniffed arrogantly. "Up his dementor exposure – I want him BROKEN," he shouted the last word and made his way to leave. Upon reaching the door he turned back round to face Black. "Any last requests as a sane man?" he asked.

Forcing a smile on his face Sirius replied, "Any chance of the Daily Prophet."

"Huh." Grunted the minister, but he still handed him the days paper, which he had conjured using his wand. Little did he realise how much this would change the events of History, for on the front of the paper were the words:

**Harry Potter spotted in Surrey – has the Boy-Who-Lived been found? (p.g.16)**

Sirius quickly turned to page sixteen – there was news about his Godson! Upon reading the article though his thoughts turned to anger as he read:

…**Harry Potter (The Boy Who Lived) may have been spotted in a muggle area of Surrey by a wizard and Auror Marcus Flint. In an interview he spoke of seeing the boy across the street, but disappeared before he could get a good look. He swears though that he saw the lightning scar… Upon interview Albus Dumbledore denied all knowledge of this and refused again to let the wizarding world know where Harry Potter lives. His only comments were that Harry was safe with relatives and will be introduced to our world soon enough.**

Throwing the newspaper onto the wall opposite Sirius began to brainstorm.

'_Why did Dumbledore say Harry was with relative, he doesn't have any except for his godfather (me) or… no. The only other relatives he could live with are the Dursleys – and they hate magic. Dumbledore knows this! He should have allowed Moony to take him in, or at least keep him at Hogwarts – I can't imagine what has happened to poor Harry, living with those wretched muggles._

It was at this point Sirius decided that he was going to find his Godson – he would have Harry in his care, and it would be soon for he planned to break out tonight.

* * *

><p>At exactly twelve o'clock Sirius transformed into his animagus form, and slipped through the bars that were guarding the window. This wouldn't have been possible if he had not lost a huge amount of weight over the past few years. Furthermore as a dog, he was quite capable squeezing through tight spaces. Suppressing a shudder as he hit the icy water below he began to swim…<p>

* * *

><p>As Sirius made it to the shore he felt a burst of euphoria flood his senses. It was like the first time he rode on a broom. He drew a deep breath, the air clean and fresh for the first time in six years. Sirius laughed, a strange sound for a dog to produce, but he laughed nevertheless. He was free!<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Thursday: Dursley Household<strong>

Harry was not having a good week.

It had all started with him slightly burning the bacon on Monday. Things had then escalated and no matter how much he tried to be good, he always seemed to anger his relatives.

Over the past few days Harry had been used as an anger outlet from all three members of his so called _family_. First Aunt Petunia would use him as a slave labourer and work him half to death. Then Dudley would pick on him relentlessly, as soon as he got home from school, before finally Vernon used him as a punch bag when he got home from work.

Harry didn't know why this was, but he didn't want this anymore – it hurt. And as he lay on his stained mattress under the stairs, shivering as the night was unseasonably cold, he dreamt of a better place where he could be happy and free.

* * *

><p><strong>Thursday evening: Private Drive<strong>

It was late evening, when a shaggy black dog appeared on the street of Private Drive. Although tall, it was painfully skinny, as if it had been starved most of its life. This was no ordinary dog though – this was Sirius Black (reluctant) heir to the Noble *cough* House of Black. And he was on a mission – find his Godson.

Sirius had searched several streets in Surrey over the past few days, before he found this one – the one which contained the Dursley household.

Padding softly through the front gardens, he made his careful way to number four…

* * *

><p><strong>Dumbledore's Office: Wednesday morning<strong>

Dumbledore sat in his office, sucky slowly on a sherbet lemon drop, and pondering the recent news, the Daily Prophet, had brought him. More importantly though the news that Sirius Black had escaped from Azkaban. No one had ever escaped before and the headlines were bothering him – especially if Sirius decided to go after Harry – that most certainly – would not do.

'_Well,' thought Dumbledore, 'I guess I should send someone to see if the boy is okay.'_

It was, coincidently, at this very moment when the flames in the fireplace in his office turned a bright green – signalling the arrival of someone.

Sitting up behind his desk, Dumbledore patiently waited for his guest.

* * *

><p><strong>Back with Sirius<strong>

Sirius peered into the house that his godson resided in, hoping to catch just a glimpse. But, of course, being the middle of the night there was no such chance.

Padding round to the back garden, Sirius surveyed the immaculate trimming of the hedges surrounding the tall pale walls – the Dursleys must have hired a professional, as it was all immaculate.

Positioning himself carefully behind a thick rose bush, he laid down to wait. '_After all_,' he thought, '_what child doesn't play in the garden_? _I'm sure I will see him soon_.

What Sirius didn't know though, was that it wouldn't be in the way he wanted.

* * *

><p><strong>With Dumbledore<strong>

Dumbledore, sighed for what seemed the umpteenth time this evening as he listened to a certain werewolf rant and rave about the infamous Black's escape from Azkaban. For the past half hour Lupin had been shouting at the top of his voice, that Harry had to be moved to Hogwarts immediately where an eye could be kept on him at all times.

Dumbledore knew the main reason though – Lupin wanted to meet his godson and was feeling a lot of guilt for not checking on him sooner. After hearing of his best friend's death and his second's betrayal, which caused it, he had fled consumed in grief. He was back, now though, after touring most of Europe and clearing his head.

Finally pausing for breath, Lupin gave Albus the opportunity he needed to voice his own opinion on the matter.

"My dear boy," Albus began, "I am sure Harry will be fine – no one who wants to harm him can pass the blood wards."

Holding up a hand to stop Lupin from interrupting Dumbledore continued, "however if it makes you feel better I can let you check up on him – just to be safe.

And with a curt nod Lupin swept out of the room – he would see his best friend's son, even if it was for a short while.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Ok so there it is Chapter One is complete *does victory dance*. A BIG thank you to everyone who has added this story to alerts or reviewed – it keeps me going ;D**

**Just a few announcements:**

**The-Girl-Who-Dreamed – **Thank you for your review – my very first EVER – I hope you continue reading my story :D

**Harry Potter Lover – **Whoever you are (anonymous reviewer) thanks for the review and please keep reading.

**If you have any questions about the chapter please leave me a review or send me a private message – I will try to answer. **


	3. Chapter 2

**Harry Potter – The Red Rune**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Anything you recognise isn't mine. The Harry Potter series belongs to J. K. Rowling. I only borrow the characters and write my own version of ****her**** story SO DON'T SUE ME.**

**A/N: Hey everyone it's the next update of my story – so enjoy! Any mistakes are my fault entirely so if you see one please let me know**

**Chapter Two**

**Friday Morning: Dursley Household**

It was an early morning in Private Drive. At number five, across the road from the Dursleys, Arabella Figg was putting out one of her many cats.

Gazing out over the deserted street, she muttered quietly to herself - it was just so _boring _living in this quaint neighbourhood. _'In fact' _she thought too herself, _'if it wasn't for poor Harry, I would have quit my post years ago.'_

Feeling the same knot of guilt that accompanied any thought of Harry, she stepped back into the cosy warmth of her home, pulling the door closed with the heel of her right foot.

Yes she knew what went on behind closed doors, just a few yards from her home. The 'Boy Who Lived,' the one Dumbledore had assigned her to watch over, was repeatedly abused. Not the she had ignored it, oh no. In fact, within the first year of watching him, she had made more than twenty complaints to the supposed benevolent leader of the 'light,' concerning the growing mistreatment witnessed.

Her numerous attempts though had failed. Whenever she had reported to the now dubbed 'senile git' he had either played it down, thought she was lying, or ignored her protests entirely – eyes always twinkling infuriatingly.

Eventually, after several long years of arguing with an opponent that made a brick wall seem convincible, she gave up on her reports. It was obvious that he didn't care for the boy or in the very least, was willing to turn a blind eye deluding his self with false fantasies that everything was fine.

Now the only contact she had with Harry was when the monsters – Petunia, Vernon and Dudley – left for day-trips or week long holidays. Though these times were rare Arabella swore that whenever possible she would take care of him – after all, he needed it.

And now as shuffled her way back inside she headed for the living room reclining in her favourite mahogany and beige chair and gazing into the crackling fire that opposed her, hoping – praying even – that someone would realise of the tragedy before it was too late – Harry had to be near his breaking point.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, in number four, at the back of a dark, dinge cupboard, a certain Potter was nursing his wounds.<p>

Sitting on a pile of filthy blankets, whose sorry excuse for a bed had been Harrys for the past four years, he tried to concentrate on removing the pain from Uncle Vernon's recent 'reminders.'

Harry, despite his youth, had discovered that he possessed an unusual talent – one that had revealed itself a few years ago, after he had willed a scrape on his arm to stop bleeding. Ever since then Harry had been able to either ease the pain of his welts or, for the smaller cuts, heal them completely.

It was not without risk, however. Harry shuddered to think what Vernon would do to him if he found out that he had been a 'freak' again. This was also the main reason why he didn't try to heal anything more serious than a scraped knee or paper cut – it would be far too obvious otherwise. It reminded him of his first major 'freakiness.' If it Dudley hadn't seen he might have gotten away with it…

**Flashback**

Standing on a stool a four year old Harry was slowing working his way through the pile of dishes to his left, rhythmically washing, drying and stacking the plates, bowls, and cutlery to his right.

He was nearly finished and drying the last china plate with a tea-towel when Dudley came charging into the kitchen knocking Harry off his stool in the search for food. Losing his grip on the plate, Harry could only watch in mute horror as the plate shattered against the tilled floor – scattering shards of china everywhere.

Dudley, who up until this point had been foraging in the cupboard under the sink for treats, turned round sharply – eyes shimmering with glee at the prospect of tattling on his cousin.

Fearing what Dudley would say about the broken plate to Petunia Harry willed for it to be whole again, praying that this was just another very bad dream.

To his utmost surprise and then horror the plate did just that – then stacked itself on top of the now complete pile on the cupboard top.

Beady eyes bulged out of their sockets as Dudley shot of like a rocket, wailing at the top of lungs about Harry attacking him with a floating plate.

The resulting fury from both Petunia and Vernon had left him almost immobile for two weeks – Vernon finishing off by screaming himself horse, that Harry would be sent to an orphanage if he so much as breathed wrong.

**Flashback End**

And now as Harry sat in the dark, numbing the burning sensation that ran down his left arm, he wondered if he could do anything else. Perhaps he could fly, and finally escape from his prison – but that was just plain stupid, wasn't it? And even if he did manage to escape, where would he go. Petunia had told many horrible stories about children who had nowhere to live – about how they had to stay in orphanages, about the treatment worse than anything he could imagine, about how he should be grateful he was with such loving people as themselves…

All of this propaganda directed his way had made Harry almost completely loyal to the Dursleys. Instead of trying to escape, or speak out against it he would just accept the inevitable as best he could, after all he had been told all his life he deserved it … so why should he believe otherwise?

He had just finished healing himself when Petunia, came storming down the stairs screaming at him to hurry up and make breakfast – slamming the heavy bolt across the cupboard door, before harshly yanking him out.

'_Yes', _thought Harry sadly, _'another day has begun.'_

* * *

><p>"Get out you freak, I want this garden immaculate by the time I return with Dudley, or else," spat Petunia, glaring at a cowering harry, who had just finished washing up the breakfast dishes.<p>

"Yes Aunt Petunia," whispered Harry, darting off through the back door, into the suburban garden beyond. He would probably be spending most of the morning gardening, if the list Petunia had given him was any guide – most of the shrubs were in for a scheduled trimming, including the hedge that ran along the fence at the back of the garden.

Walking down the paved path – bisecting two equal patches of grass, Harry headed for the tool shed; it was going to be another tiring day.

* * *

><p>Sirius Black, most awesome, (in his opinion), of all the marauders, was not the most agreeable of morning characters. In fact, when he was at Hogwarts, he had had to be dragged out of bed by both Moony and Prongs, before grudgingly admitting, that sleeping through McGonagall's class was suicidal.<p>

So when a pair of long garden-shears shot through the leaf canopy, above his head, nearly impaling him where he lay, it was understandable that he leapt out growling and snapping –no gardener was going to interrupt his beauty sleep at this time of morning!

Barrelling out of the bush, like a streak of lightning and hackles raised, Sirius was ready to face down any threat – the sight that met him though, would stay with him for the rest of his life…

* * *

><p>Despite the treatment Harry received from his oh so loving family, Harry was not afraid of animals. I mean if anything he preferred them more to humans – they would never judge him on how abnormal he was.<p>

This didn't mean, however, that he was fearless – so when an absolutely huge, shaggy coated dog ploughed into him, knocking him onto the hard ground with an *oomph* it was understandable that he was afraid (who wouldn't with a canine larger than themselves baring its gleaming white teeth at your throat).

Closing his eyes tight shut Harry awaited for the inevitable bite, he was sure was coming his entire body tense – arms held up to protect his face, small whimpers escaping his trembling frame.

After several long seconds without pain though he opened them hesitantly staring into the ice-blue irises of his attacker. It was at this point he felt a soft pressure against his forehead. The touch was warm and gentle if a bit wet and seemed to calm him – even if it was only slightly.

Eyes opened wide he looked up to where the animal was washing his forehead, a bright clean tongue lapping furiously at him. The dog seemed almost happy, lips pulled back in what looked suspiciously like a smile. It nudged his cheek and whined.

Harry watched it in bewilderment. "Y-y-you're not going to kill me?" he asked shakily.

The dog made a low growl in his throat, and Harry impulsively drew himself into a tight ball.

* * *

><p>Sirius was in a state of shock – this couldn't be – his godson <strong>his<strong> godson was showing an emotion towards him that he never wanted to experience – fear. Even if he was blind, he would still be able to smell the fear that practically oozed out Harry's skin – he really thought he was going to be hurt.

He was brought back to the conscious plane though when Harry started speaking…well whimpering more like but it sounded so pitiful it made his heart wrench – he was begging for his life, something he wanted no part in causing.

Unfortunately for him though, trying to converse whilst still transformed never went perfectly and his supposed whine of reassurance came out more of a growl than he intended – frightening the already near cationic Harry into a tight ball.

"_Dammit," _thought Sirius, _"could this morning get any worse?"_ he paused … sniffing the air for any sign of danger … '_oh no, what is __he__ doing here'_

* * *

><p>Remus Lupin strode purposefully along the sidewalk that led to Private Drive, his face a blank mask of emotion. The movement of his arms swinging and tightly clenched jaw was the only sign of the stress bubbling underneath his skin – like magma beneath the crust – just waiting to explode.<p>

The faster he walked though, the further number four seemed to drift away – mocking him of his chance to see Harry. The thought of the subject in general brought a pang to his heart.

Despite his promise to visit Harry as soon as possible he had not been physically able for the past few days, what with the full moon on the Wednesday, the after affects had taken a lot out of him leaving him practically bed ridden for most of Thursday, thus delaying his visit … until now…

And now as his destination flooded his sight he marched up to the door intent on questioning the family Harry had lived with – perhaps he was wrong and they cared for him?

It was with this thought, however, that the whole world seemed to stop, shattering the illusion he was trying to convince himself with – the wind had just changed direction…and **his** scent was carried with it.

* * *

><p>In a flash Sirius was up scanning the garden it could only be a matter of time until … <strong>Bam <strong>... Sirius was sent sprawling across the garden, shunted by a wicked sucker punch courtesy of an enraged werewolf.

With almost no time to defend himself the two men – well one man and one dog – were fighting, wrestling their way through Petunias prised flower beds – marigolds flying everywhere.

In the midst of this madness though crouched Harry completely unaware of the world around him, seemingly trapped inside his mind, and struggling to piece together these events. First he had been attacked by a dog, which despite its appearance was friendly after all it didn't bite him, only growling when he started whining – which in his mind was understandable, Vernon had always told him that he would get it if he made a sound. Then he had seen a man creep into the garden, who had attacked the dog sending him flying with a vicious punch.

And now, as Harry caught up with the events transpiring around him he nearly fainted – the garden was a mess – no – that didn't even come close in describing the scene that lay before him. Stalks were snapped, flower heads shredded, grass torn and the patio stained by a dark crimson liquid…blood.

He was so dead when Petunia returned, he could practically feel the thrashing he was going to receive, and he knew it would be his worst – they would never believe him if he blamed the mess on a wild dog fighting a strange man with a stick **(A/N: Remus had just pulled out his wand)**. Heart beating wildly Harry did the one thing he had never considered no matter how bad things had gotten – run away.

* * *

><p>It was, just a few minutes later that Remus finally managed to subdue the animagus form of his ex-best friend. A well placed curse made him stumble, allowing for Lupin to grab hold of him – Pinning him to the ground. Breathing heavily he stared into the icy depths of the canine beneath.<p>

"Why," he choked out, "why did you betray us so?"

Letting out a whine Sirius transformed back into his human state, replying in a hurt voice "I never betrayed you, how could I – it was all Peter's fault, he became secret keeper not me.

A look of shock came upon Lupin's face, as he resisted the urge to torture himself, why didn't he see it sooner? In the weeks leading up to the Potters' death Peter had been extremely nervous – more so than usual and (if he remembered correctly) smelled strongly of snakes…

Looking back into Sirius's eyes he let out a breath he didn't realise he was holding in – there was nothing but desperate hope swimming around behind his jaded eyes. And, thanks to his 'furry' problem he had not sensed one false statement – he truly had been innocent.

Standing up he offered an arm to his once best friend helping the wrongly downed man to his feet, embracing the emaciated figure, crying softly begging for repentance.

* * *

><p>If you had asked Sirius his greatest wish whilst he was in Azkaban he would have immediately replied that he wanted to go back to before the massacre and set things right, he just wanted his friends back. So when one of his most trusted friends believed his story and started begging for forgiveness it was with no hesitation that he wrapped his arms around the lanky werewolf, whispering his acceptance in his ears.<p>

…It was to this scene that Petunia Dursley returned to – a destroyed garden and two men embracing in the middle of her – well what was left of it – lawn.

"What is going on here?" she screeched, startling the two men out of the comfort of each other's arms.

"We were just leaving," spoke up Lupin, looking a little embarrassed.

"Not without Harry," said Sirius, scanning the garden for his godson's small form…but it was empty.

"What have you done with him," he exploded "he was here just a moment ago."

Ignoring the man's outburst Petunia held up her nose before saying "well if you're to take him back then by all means do so, I have just about had it with his freakiness" and with that statement she marched back inside slamming the door as she did so, the glass plane vibrating dangerously, leaving two stunned individuals in her garden.

Turning to his now-best-friend-again Remus shook his head sadly – he had hopped he was wrong about Harry's home life but it appeared that he was not Mr. Popularity at the Dursleys. He was interrupted from his depressing thoughts though when Sirius turned to him asking him for help in finding Harry. Lupin quickly agreed, after all he couldn't have gotten far…

* * *

><p>In a nearby park, resting tiredly on a swing sat Harry. He had rushed away from the Dursleys as quick as he could, but now as he sat there he had started to think. He couldn't stay here for long – he would be found, but where could he go, no one would ever want a freak like him.<p>

It was with this thought that he stood up, if a bit shakily, heading slowly down the hill, from which the park lay, towards the road below. But before he had even reached it he became aware of heavy footsteps behind him, getting closer and closer. Fearing the worst he turned around…but was pleasantly surprised to see the dog from earlier.

"Hello," he whispered timidly, reaching out a hand and scratching the dog behind the ears, causing its tail to thump against the ground furiously. Perhaps this dog wanted to be friends with him.

Smiling at the prospect of his first friend Harry started to relax. But imagine Harry's shock when the dog started to change – it grew until upon reaching the height of normal adult transformed into a man, a huge grin plastered over his face.

"W-w-who are y-you?" Harry stuttered apprehension and fear evident in his young voice.

But before the man could answer Harry saw the one who attacked him before come running up the hill a relieved expression etched on his face.

"I'm Sirius Black, and this," Sirius pointed to the out of breath werewolf, "is my good friend Remus Lupin. We were very close friends with your parents," Sirius explained, smiling warmly, happy Harry was at least talking to them, albeit fearfully.

Harry just stared at them in confusion – they were friends with his parents, but didn't this Lupin person just attack the dog/man. Gathering up his courage Harry voiced his concern, hoping they wouldn't hurt him for asking a question.

It was quickly argued though by both Sirius and Remus that it hadn't been their intention to fight just a big misunderstanding – thinking it was the best way to explain it to Harry.

Nodding to show that he understood, but sill eyeing them warily Harry then plucked up the courage to ask a second question – after all they hadn't hit him yet so perhaps they were nice people?

"W-what are you doing here," Harry asked, ducking his head as he said so, expecting a blow.

Seeing this made Sirius stomach turn, but he pressed on anyways replying:

"I was wondering if you would like to come and live with me" said Sirius looking at the boy in front of him hoping that the answer was yes. "And if Moony here agrees he can live with us too."

Harry was floored. For the first time in his short life he was being given the chance to escape the wrath of the Dursleys and live with someone who seemed to care for him, so mustering his courage once more he looked at the two men's smiling faces and said the one word that would change his life for the better – "Yes."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Well here it is the end of another chapter :D **

**I apologise for not updating sooner, but I have been unwell - Yes over Christmas too :(**

**Anyway please review and tell me what you think, I might of rushed this chapter a bit as I wanted to get Harry away from the Dursleys, but I think it reads well ;D **

**And now for the reviewers of last chapter:**

**Spottedpool - Thankyou for your compliments **

**loretta537 - I hope so!**

**Lizzete - I'm glad you like it**

**Vegetossj4 - Wow you love my story already :O**

**Random Under the Sun - Glad you like it**

**Ventus Princeps - Hooray another liker**

**The-Girl-Who-Dreamed - Glad you liked my second chapter, things will get better for Harry...eventually**

**Well that's about it, until next time...**

**Ja Ne**


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